The Eunuch of Stamboul

by Dennis Wheatley

  Swithin saw it all with the same clarity as if he had been listening to the cold logic of a Staff College lecture upon International Complications. He was no diplomat but as a soldier he had passed out of the common rut and done his two years at Camberley, where he had listened to instructors who could give points to the average banker or big business man, when they got down to brass tacks, on the mainsprings which actuated the delicate balance of power that kept the peace of Europe.

  He glanced at his watch again and then produced his pistol. “Time’s up,” he said. “Are you going to talk or must I march you off to Kazdim?”

  Arif remained quite placid. The fear had gone out of his eyes now that he had formed his resolution. “Do what you will,” he shrugged. “Allah is my witness that I will not say one other word.”

  The bluff was called and Swithin knew it. With a rueful smile he repocketed his gun and when he spoke again his voice had a ring of genuine admiration. “May I congratulate you on your courage—you’re a brave chap Arif and a loyal one. And now I’ll tell you something. Apart from what I’ve learned from you I don’t know the first thing about the Kaka. In fact I did not even know that it existed until Reouf told me of it yesterday.”

  Suddenly Arif’s lips went greyish-white with furious anger. “It was you then who betrayed him,” he almost screamed.

  “Quiet for God’s sake!” Swithin held up a warning hand. “I never had any intention of handing you over to Kazdim and, please believe me, on the word of an Englishman, I had no hand in the death of your brother.”

  The Turk let out his breath with a sharp hiss of relief but he persisted doggedly: “Who betrayed Reouf, then—if it was not you?”

  “I can tell you. That’s why I came back here to-night. I admit that I’ve tricked you into telling me certain things. I had to, because it’s my job to find them out, but before you think of turning me out of your house I want you to remember this. When I came here I only suspected that you were a member of this secret league against Kemal, now I know it—and the number of your cells, so if I wished I could now lay an information against you far more effectively than I could have a quarter of an hour ago. But I’m not threatening you now and I give you my word that your secret is perfectly safe with me. I only state that because whatever you decide to do you must give me a hearing.”

  “Well?”

  “Reouf was not executed by Kemal’s Secret Police.”

  “By whom then?”

  “By your Brothers in Allah of the Sword and Crescent, they killed him because, poor boy, he talked too freely—they thought him dangerous and so they decided to eliminate him.”

  “I do not believe it.”

  “I can prove it to you. He wished to gain my sympathy as a foreigner who might influence outside opinion in favour of your movement—so he talked to me—with the best intentions perhaps—but of things that he should not have done. That did not matter, but he did the same to someone else. That person was a member of one of your high cells. Thinking the boy a danger he praised his enthusiasm, showed him the signet, and told him that he should be given special work to do. Reouf told me this himself. Then under that pretext he was decoyed away last night and murdered—to still his tongue.”

  “Who was it?” demanded Arif fiercely.

  “Kazdim of course! he’s in this thing himself, he must be, how otherwise would he have possession of the signet—and the final proof is the manner of Reouf’s death. It was no execution in a prison yard, but murder done in secret at the Marble Tower by your fellow conspirators because they feared that he could betray them by his indiscretion.”

  The Turk covered his face with his hands and sank down in a chair. “Allah!” he moaned “Allah—Father of all—how can thy servants be guilty of a deed so foul.”

  “Listen.” Swithin placed his hand on the distraught man’s shoulder. “Your eyes are open now. You, and probably thousands of others, have been most terribly misled. As idealists you have believed yourselves to be working for your religion and the restoration of the ancient glories of your country. That is not true, you are being used as puppets to break Kemal who has saved for you all that is left of Turkey, and whose efforts to clear up all the abuses from which the country has suffered for a hundred years are the admiration of every power that counts in the world to-day.

  “If you succeeded what would happen? Only just recovering from a dozen years of war you would be plunged into war again. You couldn’t win, even under Kemal’s leadership, because war is far more a matter of possessing adequate stocks of the right raw material than bravery to-day, and without him you would be beaten before you started. The Greeks and the Bulgars and all your other old enemies would be only too glad of the excuse to have another cut at you and they’d have the backing of the Great Powers behind them. There could only be one end to it—the final dismemberment of Turkey—and you would all become a subject race under some Mandate from the League of Nations.”

  Arif uncovered his face and began to bite nervously at the nails of his left hand.

  “Damn it you’ve got to listen to reason,” Swithin went on, throwing every ounce of persuasion of which he was capable into his voice. “You and your friends have been fascinated by this chimera of restoring the ancient glories of your country—but it’s an old saying in England that outsiders see most of the game. I’m a foreigner and I know what other people in France and Germany and the United States think about Turkey as well as my own friends at home. If this revolution is successful you will have the whole world against you and by getting rid of Kemal you would simply be making a rod for your own backs.”

  “You really think that?” Arif murmured, looking up with tear dimmed eyes from under his heavy brows.

  “I’m certain of it man—besides, think what Turkey would be like to live in if any portion of it were left to you after the dust up. You’ve lived in security for fifteen years under Kemal so you’ve forgotten what life was like here before he took control. All the old abuses and corruptions would start up again, and the terrorisation of the man in the street by the high officials. You know how ruthless they used to be when they had a grudge against a man—and there was no justice to be got. It would be the same again and they’d bowstring or impale the people they didn’t like. Think of your brother and what they have done to him—even before they are in power. Doesn’t that open your eyes? And that devil Kazdim is high up in this thing so he will be one of your new rulers. Surely you are not mad enough to wish to make a Minister of your brother’s murderer.”

  “You are right,” Arif gasped, suddenly standing up. “I have been mad—blind—besotted—but Allah has opened my eyes in time. If they would do this to an innocent boy they are unfit to govern, better a thousand times that we should continue under the atheist Kemal.”

  Swithin’s heart was pounding with excitement, he knew that at last he had won the Turk over. “You’ll help me then?” he exclaimed. “Help me to fight these murdering devils!”

  Arif straightened himself. For a moment he glanced in the direction of the door, and in the ensuing silence the wailing of the women could be faintly heard as they mourned by the body of Reouf in a distant room.

  “‘For them there are gardens beneath which rivers flow,’“ he quoted solemnly. “‘But these are the fellows of the fire and they shall burn therein for aye.’”

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE STOPPED EARTH

  In the late afternoon of the following day, Swithin boarded a motor-launch which lay waiting for him at a broken down pier on the little-frequented waterfront just to the north of Scutari.

  He was dressed in greasy overalls and a rakish check cap which had seen considerable service; a portion of his second-hand wardrobe which Arif had brought over from his Tatavla flat earlier in the afternoon.

  The Turk stood on the slimy steps of the landing stage. It was he who had arranged the hire of the launch and that it should be left ready at this quiet spot. As Swithin started up the engine Arif tossed
a bundle down to him in the boat and with a quick glance round, started off up the jetty.

  Swithin slung the bundle into the small cabin that occupied the rear of the launch, cast off from the landing stage and turned her nose up the Bosphorus. On reaching the landward end of the pier Arif glanced over his shoulder. Swithin too was looking back; both raised a hand simultaneously in a farewell wave and then the Turk disappeared among the boatsheds and low buildings.

  The launch settled down to a steady chug, making a good pace against the current, and Swithin decided that Arif had done his business well. The Turk had put up a good performance in more than one way since their mental tussle which had taken place in the small hours of the previous morning. Once Swithin had convinced him that his brother had been murdered by the very men he was endeavouring to place in power, the Station-master’s whole attitude had changed. His actual knowledge of the conspiracy was little more than Swithin had already forced out of him but he had promised his unreserved assistance in securing further details and helping to checkmate it.

  He had been devoted to Reouf and the thought that the boy had been done to death for a simple indiscretion, where a sharp warning would have proved sufficient deterrent to his making further rash confidences, filled him with bitter anger and an implacable hatred for those unknown chiefs of his organisation who must have ordered the murder.

  Swithin had spent half the night alternately trying to console him for his loss and goading him to a white hot resentment against Kazdim and his associates, so that when both were nearly dropping with fatigue, Arif had willingly put him up for the rest of the night and, in the morning, agreed to undertake various matters for him.

  As he was wanted by the police Swithin felt that it would be a needlessly risky proceeding to cross the Bosphorus in the daytime, yet it was essential that he should arrange a meeting with Diana. In consequence, he had decided to lie low at Arif’s house until late in the afternoon while the Turk went to his flat and collected some of his disreputable clothes, arranged for a motor-boat, and despatched a note to Diana, asking her to be at the Tobacco Depot without fail by six o’clock.

  Arif had had to attend his brother’s funeral in the morning but, directly he returned from it, he had set about making Swithin’s arrangements with an efficiency which delighted the Englishman who, in addition to his personal satisfaction was only too glad to see that by busying himself with active measures against the enemy his new friend’s mind was temporarily distracted from his bereavement.

  By a quarter to six Swithin’s launch lay just below Ortakeuy under the shelter of a bank fringed with aloes and cactus. He moored it there and disappeared into the cabin where he undid the bundle, which contained his ordinary clothes, and pulling off his overalls changed into his lounge suit. Then he accomplished the last half mile up to the Depot.

  At the wharf he found that Diana must have passed him while he was changing in his cabin, for she was just landing as he rounded the last bend and he saw the Greek manager, Lykidopulous, coming down through the garden to receive her.

  In response to his hail they turned and strolled back to the water steps, arriving just as he came alongside. The Greek displayed a mixture of bombastic importance and servility as usual, rating Swithin with forced playfulness for not having visited the place for a week in one breath, and exclaiming how honoured he was to receive Lord Sir Duncannon’s daughter there, in the next. Diana looked cool and lovely in an outrageously fashionable hat with an enormous brim and a gauze-like summer frock, the outer layers of which ruffled as she moved, caught up like green foam by the gentle breeze which comes with evening down the Bosphorus.

  Lykidopulous was pointing out the beauties of the old palace and speaking of the Shah of Persia’s association with it in his hardly understandable English, while Swithin puzzled his wits how to get rid of him for a few moments in order that he might talk privately with Diana, but she saved him further worry by inquiring of the Greek: “What are those lovely flowers over there?”

  “Honourable Ladie—you like—yes-please?”

  “They smell heavenly,” she said casting him a bewitching smile. “Might I have some to take back with me. You give me some—yes-please?”

  Swithin had his work cut out to suppress his laughter as she simplified her request into the Greek’s limited vocabulary without the flicker of an eyelid, but the great thing was that the man understood and declared enthusiastically: “Yes, yes I pull flowers very nice for Ladie Duncannon.”

  Diana felt that it was useless to explain that she was not Lady Duncannon and time was precious, so directly he moved away to pick her a bunch she turned questioning eyes on Swithin.

  “I’m on to it now,” he said swiftly, “and it’s a real big thing. I thought it safer to meet you here than risk going into Pera in the daytime. This Greek fool is going to be a nuisance, but fortunately he doesn’t understand much English, so if we use the longest words we can think of I’II be able to tell you my news while he shows you round, without his catching on to what we’re talking about.”

  “What do you mean by ‘big’,” she asked, “is the movement likely to become really dangerous?”

  “Very. There are over seven thousand of them in it and as far as I can gather they’re all picked men. The programme is to do Dictator Kemal in and run Turkey on Republican lines. That is the theory, so there is no question of bringing back the ex-Sultan, but they mean to restore their religion to its former place in national life so they will appoint some member of the old Royal House to the Caliphate. Actually, of course, the Republican part of the business is all fiddlesticks and the country will be run by a junta as corrupt and unscrupulous as any Palace gang in the bad old days of the Sultans. But that’s not the worst of it. These birds are religious fanatics and once they have seized power they intend to preach a Jehad—you know what that means.”

  She threw him a sudden startled glance.

  “Yes,” he went on grimly, “I was pretty rattled myself when I found that out. Salonica is their first port of call and with Kemal’s trained forces to do the job they’ll pitch the Greeks into the Mediterranean unless I’m a Dutchman.”

  “They will have Bulgaria on their hands if they try that, and the rest of the Balkan countries as well.”

  “Don’t I know it! But there’s no reasoning with these birds I tell you, and they’re mad keen to start out on one of their good old Christian slayings.”

  Diana frowned. “If certain Powers seek their own advantage by backing the Turks there is going to be first-class trouble.”

  “Of course, and you may bet your life they will. It is just the excuse they have been waiting for.”

  “It’s awful to think of,” she exclaimed. “I’ll send a code radio to father to-night—the minute I get back—he will pass it on to our Foreign Office and they will tip off Kemal.”

  “Yes—that’s the best hope of stopping it, but we’ve got no proof to offer since we can’t give away the source of our information.”

  “Who told you this—Reouf?”

  “No.” Swithin paused for a moment as Lykidopulous rejoined them with a big bunch of sweet smelling Tuberoses then he concluded his sentence. “Houdini was a marvellous fellow, he could get out of any hempen tangle, but my friend wasn’t quite so good and when they pressed him to give an aquatic exhibition he was a dismal failure—so he has retired from business.”

  “Thank you—thank you most awfully,” Diana gushed to the Greek; then she glanced at Swithin. “Poor fellow—how terrible. Who stage-managed the show?”

  “I forget the fellow’s name but you know him. He is remarkable for his avoirdupois, circumference about two ells and weight nearly up to that of a Brontosaurus.”

  “You see factory—I show—yes-please,” beamed Lykidopulous.

  “Yes-please,” Diana nodded as they turned towards the building; then she asked casually: “Why did the Brontosaurus provide this work for a mortician?”

  “Because he fear t’ot
her fella spilla da beans.”

  “Pot-belly is in this racket then?”

  “You’ve said a mouthful.”

  “Whence the lowdown if our ewe lamb failed to survive the arctic douche?”

  “A scion of the same house—likewise a bomb chucker—but converted now and out to relieve Bronte of his red corpuscles.”

  The coffee-maker had already prepared for their reception in the office and after having partaken of his brew Lykidopulous led them through the ante-chambers to the big room where the hands were still at their work, seated in long lines against the walls with the golden tobacco leaves heaped up before them. “Salon de Polais,” he explained. “Now workroom. I lead—you follow—yes-please.”

  “How interesting,” Diana murmured—and then, “Hast heard aught of diverse contraptions by the use of which Homo Sapiens render each other suitable to be placed beneath the sub-soil?”

  “Yea, verily. Such lie in well timbered erections, camouflaged as agricultural implements awaiting distribution to the liege lord’s serfs, in the place where chariots propelled by aqua pura brought to 240 degrees fahrenheit—depart for the Garden of Eden.”

  As Swithin delivered this involved reply he overheard the Greek say to one of the foremen in his own language: “Go get Mr. Stikolides. Tell him to come to me at once.”

  Then for a few moments they had to listen to him as he showed them how the tobacco leaves, having been sorted and graded, are made up into small packets between two strips of wood and these, being placed together, make up the bale, which is then pressed, wrapped in hessian and pressed again.

  “Aren’t the leaves a marvellous colour—just like piles of bronzy-gold,” Diana remarked. “What time does the balloon go up?”

  “Yes, but their colour is not a patch on your hair,” Swithin replied, momentarily carried out of himself by a fresh wave of admiration for her loveliness; then he added quickly: “I’m not on to Greenwich yet.”